Clarity of Life
by LillieGrey
Summary: Robin has never like the color red, there are too many bad memories associated with the color, but when he meets a certain not-so-Evil-Queen his opinion begins to change.
1. Chapter 1

He never liked red; he always found it too garish and bright, offensive in its clarity. The color brings back harsh memories of blistering agony, his wife's screams as she gave birth to their child, blood pooling and spreading, filling the air with its metallic scent until all he could see was red.

But then, he met _her_ and suddenly the color took on a whole new meaning.

There's an alluring quality to the shining crimson of her lips, the deep scarlet velvet of her dress. He imagines how the silky smoothness of it would feel beneath his hands as he mapped her curves, pulling her in for a lingering kiss, smudging the perfectly slicked on paint coating her mouth.

Everywhere he goes he seems to be haunted by it now, these glimpses of red in various shades, each one reminding him of her.

The apple tree that rests in the courtyard, ripe fruit winking around clusters of leaves waiting to be plucked. The tempting red flesh giving way as her pearly white teeth sink in, breaking the skin; a single bead of juice running from her lips down her chin, taunting him to lean in and lick it away, sampling the taste of her skin mixed with the sticky sweet liquid.

The blistering redness of her back, drawn tight and painful from the harsh rays of the sun. Forcing him to hide his amusement as she gripes and complains, cursing corsets and elaborate costumes and mumbling something about the uses of aloe and lotions she must have had in her other world.

A menacing spark of flame bursting from her hand, warming her face with a soft amber glow casting shadows across the planes of her cheekbones and the high elegant arch of her brows. It should be terrifying, the way the light reflects in her eyes, madness creeping in at the edges, but there's a fierceness to it, a determination to protect what is left of her family and her kingdom.

Watching her, as she soothes and quiets his boy, a hand shimmering with magic erasing the brightness of blood from his scraped knee with whispered assurances and a soft smile; he admits he has a certain fondness for the shade now. Slowly she is removing every bad connotation, every painful memory associated with it, until all he sees is her in a world wrapped in shades of red. Before there was only silence, an empty hollowness, that is steadily being replaced with the renewed pounding of his heart, life rushing through his veins in a tide of flames, apples, blood and _Regina_.


	2. Chapter 2

It's shocking, to see her reach into her chest, a momentary flash of pain filtering across her face, knitting her brow before easing away with a soft grunt as she pulls her hand back, something held lightly in her grasp.

"Will you protect this for me? Zelena can't know where it is; going into this fight without it may be the only advantage I have." She looks so uncertain,holding her breath, searching his face, as she extends her hands and literally offers him the heart resting in her palms. _Her_ heart.

For a moment he just stares in awe at the woman before him, and the beautiful object she gently slides into his grasp. It's warmer than he expected it to be, soft, yet firm, as he cradles it in his hands. It's fascinating; a perfectly complicated amalgamation of light and dark, just like the woman it belongs to. He strokes a thumb across the surface, a gentle caress, and he feels the beat quicken slightly, pulsing against his fingertips, a shiver passing through her body.

"Can you feel that?"

"Mmhmm," she hums, swallowing thickly before her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

He does it again and watches her eyes flutter closed, lips parting on a soft sigh. The temptation to close the minuscule space between them and pull her bottom lip between his own, to run his tongue along the seam of her lips and taste the cherry colored lacquer coating her mouth, is almost overwhelming.

"I will guard this with my life, you have my word," he breathes, breaking the spell between them as her eyes snap open and focus on him, softening in gratitude and disbelief.

"Thank you," she smiles, a bit tight at the edges, but gentle and relieved. "Hopefully it won't be for long."

"Take as long as you need," he answers, reaching over and grasping one of her hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The bright red leather of her gloves slides against palm as he loosens his grip. He wishes she wasn't wearing them; he wants to feel the heat from his hands press into hers, warming her skin as he passes his thumb along the peaks and valleys of her knuckles, to give what little comfort he can before she walks off into the darkness to face her sister, but he'll have to settle for this instead.

She gives him one last nod before turning and walking back through the forest, back stiff, shoulders squared, every inch oozing the cool, regal confidence of a queen that he knows she isn't quite feeling. When she's out of sight, he settles down and leans his back against a tree, his precious charge still resting in his palms. He knows he should hide it some place safe, but he wants to just look at it for a moment, memorize the entrancing patterns of vibrant crimson and murky ebony that bob and weave, winding together across the surface of her heart and he begins to run his fingertips along the surface again.

He may be imagining it, but the swirling patches of red seem to glow a bit brighter with every pass of his fingers, every delicate stroke, as if they're drawing strength from his touch. He hopes she can feel it wherever she is, that his presence will comfort her until she is able to reclaim this bit of herself she's entrusted to him.

Until then he will guard her heart, he will keep this piece of her safe until she returns to him; until he can help make her whole.


	3. Chapter 3

The panic strangles, sharp and fast like fingers gripping around his heart. She just died in his arms, her last breath ghosting across his skin as her eyes slipped shut. But it wasn't _her_.

She's nowhere in sight. He has to find her, he needs to know that she's safe, that the image branded into his mind of her body broken and lifeless is just a horrible nightmare that will never come to pass.

He runs, desperate to escape the image seared into his memory, flooding his vision with tides of red. The brightness of blood seeping around her fingers, tacky and thick as it dried, staining her perfect olive skin; pools of it weeping into the ground below, stealing her life away with it. The scent of iron coating the air, mingling with the lingering stench of magic and smoke. It flashes before his eyes with every slap of his feet against the pavement, every pleading call of her name.

He didn't know. He didn't know it was her. He should have held her closer, kissed her mouth, whispered how much he loved her, promised her that he would look after her boy; he should have done a million different things, but he didn't _know_.

There's an odd poetry to it; he's loved her in every world, every land, every reality he has met her in, almost from the moment he's laid eyes on her. Even in the topsy-turvy world they've just escaped from he'd fallen for the feisty bandit with the quick tongue and the big heart; he'd tried to show her in the end as he stared into her soft eyes. He loved her in the silence as she struggled to breathe, as the wound across her middle wept and she sighed in relief as his fingers brushed hers reassuring her that finally she wasn't alone. He loved her, even within that reality, but nowhere near as much as he loves her now, in their true lives.

He loves her, _needs_ her, his Regina. He needs the silk of her skin, the light of her smile, the melody of her voice, each and every beloved piece of her, but he's lost her. She's gone. She's gone and he didn't even get to say goodbye.


End file.
